LITTLE SINCLAIR
I sat on the cold floor, my back resting against the wall, my thumb moving endlessly over the screen of my phone as I scrolled through things I wasn’t even seeing, my mind too distant to register anything, even though the clock had long crossed 2 a.m. and the world outside had surrendered to sleep.
I noticed her shifting again, her body turning restlessly against the sheets, as if even in sleep she couldn’t find comfort.
I frowned slightly and stood up carefully, making sure my movements were quiet enough not to wake her, my steps slow as I moved closer, my gaze settling on her face.
Her face was damp, strands of her hair sticking to her forehead, her skin flushed, her breathing uneven as the harsh summer heat wrapped around her.
The lone ceiling fan above her head rotated lazily, its effort too weak against the thick, suffocating heat of the night.
I exhaled quietly, my eyes lingering on her for a second longer than necessary, before I turned away and reached for the table, picking up an invitation card that lay there untouched, something trivial, something.
Dragging the chair closer to the bed, I sat down beside the bed, the faint scraping sound barely breaking the silence, as I lifted the card and began to move it gently, back and forth, letting it push small streams of air toward her.
The soft breeze it created brushed against her face, lifting a few strands of her hair, cooling the heat just enough for her restless movements to ease, for her breathing to slowly calm, for the tension in her expression to soften.
I wasn’t supposed to do any of this.
There was no reason for me to sit here in the middle of the night, sacrificing my sleep, moving a piece of paper back and forth like it meant something, like she meant something.
I didn’t owe her anything.
Not my time.
Not my care.
Not this quiet, ridiculous effort.
I exhaled slowly, my hand pausing for a brief second before I forced it to move again, the card cutting through the warm air as I continued fanning her, my eyes unconsciously drifting back to her face.
She looked so calm when she slept—so still, so quiet—nothing like the little cyclone she was when she was awake, the same girl who never seemed to run out of words, who filled every silence with her voice, her chaos, her presence.
A faint smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it, my hand continuing its slow, rhythmic motion as I fanned her, watching the way her breathing had finally steadied, the tension in her face easing into something softer.
“What the hell am I actually doing?” I muttered under my breath, the reality of the situation hitting me all over again like a sharp reminder I didn’t ask for.
I was sitting here.
In the middle of the night.
Fanning a girl....
A girl who had forced me into this marriage, who had turned my life upside down, who was supposed to be nothing more than a temporary presence I would eventually walk away from.
I clicked my tongue in irritation, trying to shake off whatever this feeling was, whatever softness had crept into me without warning.
This was ridiculous.
Absolutely ridiculous.
Suddenly, a loud noise echoed from outside the room...sharp, unexpected, and way too dramatic for 2 a.m.—and I flinched so hard the card almost flew out of my hand.
She shot up from the bed instantly, eyes wide, breathing uneven.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice laced with panic.
“Relax,” I said quickly, even though my own heart had jumped to my throat, as I stood up and glanced toward the door like I was some kind of brave hero from a movie.
“What was that sound?” she asked again, now standing up beside the bed, looking just as scared as I felt.
I got up from the chair, pretending to be calm, even though my brain had already imagined ten different horror scenarios in the last three seconds.
“Don’t know,” I said, shaking my head slowly.
“Go and see,” she said, like it was the most obvious solution in the world.
I turned to her immediately.
“Go and see?” I repeated, offended. “Why me?”
“Because you are the man,” she said, crossing her arms like she had just given the most logical explanation ever.
I blinked at her.
“In horror movies, the man goes first,” she added helpfully.
“And in those same movies, the man dies first,” I shot back instantly.
“I am scared too,” I admitted, dropping all fake pride as I looked at her seriously.
She looked at me.
I looked at her.
Both of us silently waiting for the other to volunteer.
“Let’s go together,” she said finally.
“Yes,” I agreed immediately. “That sounds like a better plan.”
Neither of us moved.
For a solid five seconds.
“After you,” I gestured.
She glared.
“Ladies first,” I said, trying to sound confident, like I wasn’t already regretting stepping out of the room.
She shook her head immediately.
“If I see something, I will shout the hell out and die,” she said with full honesty, not even trying to act brave.
Before I could reply...
Another loud clattering sound came from the kitchen.
Both of us flinched at the same time.
And before I could even process it...
Her fingers wrapped around the sleeve of my sweatshirt, gripping it tightly.
My breath hitched.
Not because of the sound this time.
But because of that.
The way she held onto me like it was the most natural thing to do.
Like I was…safe.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to focus as I slowly started walking toward the kitchen, my steps cautious, my senses alert, while she followed closely behind me, her grip on my sleeve not loosening even a little.
We walked out of the room and straight toward the kitchen, the silence of the house now filled with the echo of our footsteps and the occasional clink of utensils from inside.
I reached for the switch and turned on the light.
And froze for a second.
There it was.
The same black cat.
Sitting right in the middle of the kitchen like it owned the place, casually knocking over utensils as if it had no responsibilities in life whatsoever.
“You again?” I muttered under my breath, staring at it like it could understand and feel guilty.
Behind me, she let out a soft chuckle, finally letting go of my sleeve as she walked past me and knelt down beside the little troublemaker.
“Hey, baby…” she cooed softly, gently patting its head as the cat looked completely unbothered by the chaos it had just created.
I stood there, staring at both of them.
One...
A menace.
The other....
Even worse.
And somehow…both of them had already taken over my peace.
“Can we keep her —” she started, her voice already softening, her eyes fixed on that tiny creature like she had just found the love of her life.
“No way,” I muttered immediately, cutting her off before she could even finish the sentence.
“Why?” she whined, turning to look at me with that exact expression she uses when she’s about to emotionally manipulate me into something unreasonable.
“I am allergic to them,” I said, making a face as I looked at the kitten like it had personally offended me.
“They are so cute,” she argued, completely ignoring my very real, very serious problem.
“I get itchy skin whenever I touch them because of their dead skin flakes,” I explained, trying to sound logical, trying to make her understand that this was not some random excuse I was making just to annoy her.
She just sat there, gently patting the kitten’s head, her attention entirely stolen by that tiny black menace.
I sighed, already knowing this was going to turn into a losing battle for me.
Then she leaned closer to the kitten and spoke softly.
“Your name is Adithya.”
“What?” I snapped instantly, my head jerking toward her.
She looked up at me, completely serious.
“It suits her,” she said, nodding confidently.
I stared at her in disbelief.
I walked toward them and knelt down beside her, keeping a safe distance from the cat like it was some biohazard waiting to attack my immune system.
“Your name is Sinclair,” I said, looking at the kitten with full seriousness, as if I had just made a very important decision on its behalf.
She snapped her head toward me immediately, glaring.
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah,” I continued calmly, nodding once. “Much better than ruining my name.”
She scoffed, flipping her hair dramatically.
“Whatever. My name carries aura,” she said with pride, like she had just dropped the most powerful statement in history.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Aura?”
“Yes,” she said, lifting her chin slightly. “Elegance. Class. Power.”
I glanced at the kitten.
Then back at her.
“Hmm… this one is currently sitting inside a pile of fallen utensils.”
She gasped.
“Don’t insult her,” she said, immediately turning back to the kitten like I had offended royalty.
“Oh Sinclairrrr,” she squealed, dragging the name in a high-pitched voice as she patted its head again, completely ignoring me.
I let out a quiet sigh, shaking my head.
“Go and sleep. It’s late,” I said, pushing myself up from the floor as I dusted my hands, trying to sound normal as if the past few minutes hadn’t been absolute chaos.
She stood up casually, completely unbothered, and started walking toward the room like nothing had happened.
“Hey,” I called, stopping her midway.
She turned, eyebrows raised.
“Go and wash your hands.”
I am not going to let her go just like that after touching a stray cat.
She clicked her tongue in irritation, already annoyed by my tone, but still turned around and walked to the sink, letting the tap run as she lazily rinsed her hands under the water.
I watched her for a second.
Then narrowed my eyes.
“With soap,” I said firmly.
She froze for a moment.
Slowly turned her head toward me.
“You are acting like my grandpa,” she muttered, clearly offended.
“And you are acting like a five-year-old,” I replied without missing a beat.
She rolled her eyes dramatically but grabbed the soap anyway, rubbing it on her hands with exaggerated movements just to show how annoyed she was.
“Happy?” she asked, holding up her hands like she had just completed some great sacrifice.
I nodded once.
“Very much.”
She huffed under her breath, wiping her hands and walking past me toward the room again.
I shooed the little Sinclair gently, waving my hand toward the window as I tried to get it out before it decided this kitchen was its permanent residence.
The kitten froze for a second, its tiny body going alert, eyes wide as it looked between me and the open window.
Then with one quick, startled movement it jumped straight out through the window.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space like I had just evicted a very tiny tenant.
I walked back into the room quietly.
She was already lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, her expression unreadable, her usual energy missing in a way that felt… unfamiliar.
I didn’t say anything.
I just moved to my place and lay down on the floor, my hands resting behind my head as my eyes followed the same blank ceiling, both of us existing in the same silence, yet somewhere far away in our own thoughts.
“Mr. Justice saviour,” she called softly.
I hummed in response, not turning to look at her.
For a moment, she said nothing.
And then—
“What will you do after I leave?”
The question landed quietly.
But it didn’t feel quiet.
My breath slowed for a second, my gaze still fixed above, as if the ceiling suddenly held something worth staring at.
After she leaves....
I swallowed lightly, my fingers pressing against the back of my head as I let out a slow breath.
“I will live peacefully without having someone who always complains about my food and forces me to buy clothes,” I said, keeping my voice as casual as possible, like it didn’t matter, like it was just another one of our usual back-and-forths.
She gasped dramatically, leaning over the edge of the bed to look down at me, her eyes wide in pure offense.
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t fall off the bed,” I said flatly, my gaze still fixed on the ceiling like it was suddenly very interesting.
“You are so ungrateful,” she muttered, her voice filled with disbelief. “I literally improved your entire personality.”
“By draining whatever peace I had left?”
She leaned a little more, clearly trying to get a reaction out of me.
“I gave you character,” she argued.
I finally turned my head slightly, just enough to glance at her upside-down face hovering above me.
“You gave me a headache,” I corrected.
She narrowed her eyes at me.
“You will miss me.”
I looked away immediately.
“No.”
“Even if you miss me after I leave… don’t worry,” she said, her voice softer now, yet carrying that same playful edge she never seemed to lose, “I will always be with you and annoy you.”
I turned my head slightly, frowning.
“How?”
She chuckled under her breath.
“Didn’t we name the little kitten Sinclair?”
A small smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it, my gaze shifting away quickly as if hiding it would somehow make it disappear.
“Even if this big Sinclair is gone…” she continued, her tone light but laced with something deeper I didn’t want to acknowledge, “…that little Sinclair will continue the job of annoying you.”
I let out a quiet breath, my fingers curling slightly against the floor as I stared back at the ceiling.
“Great,” I muttered. “So even in your absence, you’ve arranged a replacement to torture me.”
She laughed softly.
But I didn’t.
Because somewhere between her words.
And that stupid smile that still hadn’t completely left my face...something inside me felt unsettled.